


they're angry, they're sorry, they're worried (you don't care)

by iwasgonegonegone



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 5+1 Things, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insomnia, Nightmares, Post-Kings Rising, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trust Issues, laurent is not coping well and damen doesn't know what to do, the fluff doesn't come until later though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasgonegonegone/pseuds/iwasgonegonegone
Summary: “I feel fine, and I’d feel even better if you would let me sleep,” Laurent’s voice is teetering on the edge of something and Damen decides he doesn’t want to find out what.“Alright. Goodnight, sweetheart,” he settles on, and pulls the covers over them both.“Goodnight,” Laurent whispers. Damen stares at the back of his husband’s head and waits to see his breath even out. It doesn’t, and neither does his.//or, 5 times Laurent has a nightmare and the one time he lets Damen in.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 73
Kudos: 356





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> a very self-indulgent 5+1 capri fic bc i should be doing homework or cleaning the house but i wrote this instead and that's quarantine, babey. i've never written a capri fic before so here goes ig lol
> 
> obviously this fic deals with some heavy stuff; future chapters will mention it more specifically and i'll put a TW at the beginning of those chapters when applicable
> 
> fic title from "a life of possibilities" by dismemberment plan

Damen wakes slowly to the blue haze of a wintry pre-dawn, warm and heavy and tangled in the sheets. Half-conscious, he realizes he’s hogging the covers again— Laurent is going to kill him. Damen likes to say that his Akielon constitution isn’t used to the cold Veretian winters, but that excuse can only work so many times when his shivering husband awakens in the morning to find himself missing his favorite ornate quilts. Not wishing to face Laurent’s usual revenge of cold hands and feet against his skin, he clumsily frees his arm to grab at the heaviest quilt and toss it towards the other side of the bed, expecting to feel Laurent’s grateful, sleepy movements across from him as he nestles into the pre-warmed blanket.

Damen doesn’t feel any movement, but he can hear something— someone moving around in their chambers. Carefully, he opens his eyes to a rustled pillow and an empty bed. He sits up warily and almost startles as he makes eye contact with a half-dressed Laurent in the process of throwing a jacket and boots over his sleepclothes.

“Hey,” Damen mumbles, still half asleep. “Going somewhere?”

Laurent is lacing up his jacket with deft—shaky?—movements. “I wanted to go for a ride before the rest of the palace wakes up, get some peace and quiet before the council meeting later,” Laurent says, not quite making eye contact anymore. His hair is messier than it usually is, even after he wakes (he's very well-versed in Laurent's bedhead). Damen hesitates.

“The sun hasn’t even risen yet,” Damen points out, not sure what else to say.

“Thank you, I hadn’t noticed,” Laurent replies distractedly, his voice quiet, as he finishes up the final laces on his sleeves. Damen can see now that his hands are definitely shaking. He must have had a nightmare, Damen thinks— since Damen’s recovery was deemed complete a month ago and the two had started officially ruling and living together, Damen had come to notice the smaller things about Laurent that he hadn’t had the insight or affection to notice before: the way his pinky goes up unconciously when he’s drinking from a cup, the clench in his jaw when he’s trying not to laugh— and the shadows that linger in his eyes the day after he’s had a nightmare. Intuitively, he knows that with everything Laurent’s gone through, nightmares are to be expected; hell, Damen finds his own past sneaking up on him, from time to time. He knows Laurent’s does, too, but he’s never seen Laurent so shortly after waking from one, with his normally steady hands trembling and his sharp mind wandering, lost. It unsettles Damen: mostly because he isn’t sure how to fix it.

Laurent is turning, now, away from his wardrobe and toward their bedroom door, shoulders squared. 

“Is everything okay?” Damen asks, sitting up more fully, and Laurent doesn’t stop at the sound of his voice. 

“Everything’s fine, Damen, I’m just in the mood for a ride. Go back to sleep.”

Damen hesitates. “Did you have a nightmare?“

Laurent’s hand jolts impatiently from its place on the doorknob. “No. Peace and quiet, Damen.” He opens the door and disappears through it; Damen lies back down as he listens to his husband’s footsteps echo down the staircase. He stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out what else he could have said.

When he finally sees Laurent again, the next day, both of their eyes are bleary.


	2. ii

A week later, things are normal. Damen doesn’t mention Laurent’s spontaneous pre-dawn horseback ride and Laurent seems fine with that; as it is, they hardly have time to give each other a cursory kiss at night and a ‘How was your day?’ before they’re collapsing into their bed, exhausted. Developing a new kingdom, Damen decides, is somehow multitudes more complicated than he already knew it was going to be, yet he finds he’d rather do nothing else, with no one else. Laurent has been a strong and steady presence at his side and—despite the fact that neither of them really know what they’re doing—Damen feels like a king for the first time in his life. He is happier now than he ever has been; he thinks Laurent is, too.

Except.

Except Damen feels like he's hardly fallen asleep tonight before he feels the bed next to him rocking and hears breathing, frantic and uneven from the pillow to his left. He thinks it's only been a few minutes, maybe an hour at most, since he'd let his mind drift into sleep, lulled by Laurent's warm breath against his collarbone and soft hair between his fingers; for a moment, he doesn't register the movement as anything but a dream. Then he opens his eyes.

Damen sits up gently, hands hovering, unsure. He wants—needs—to wake Laurent but doesn’t think he should try to touch him, doesn’t want to add to his husband’s distress. He’s never seen Laurent like this— he’s burying his face into the pillow like he’s trying to hide, to make himself small. His hands are white, clutching the sheets desperately and as Damen stares at him he starts letting out the tiniest sounds that go straight to Damen’s heart in little jolts.

“Laurent,” he whispers, leaning in a little closer. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

There’s no indication that Laurent has heard him; he just curls more tightly into himself, breathing erratic and interspersed with whimpers that Damen didn’t even realize Laurent was capable of making.

“Laurent,” he says louder, trying to sound composed. When Laurent doesn’t wake, he moves his hand tentatively, slowly, to his shoulder. “Laurent—"

Damen has barely made contact when Laurent’s head shoots up and blue eyes meet his own. Damen’s hand hovers, uncertain, as he watches Laurent’s eyes dart around his face. 

“You’re okay, Laurent, it’s okay. You were having a nightmare,” he says softly, careful to keep his voice neutral and unbothered.

Laurent stares at him, still, unmoving save for his jerky breaths. He’s curled up like he was when he was dreaming, like he’s still afraid that whatever—whoever—was after him in his head is going to catch him. From the way his eyes leave Damen’s face and begin scanning the room, he might be.

Damen watches him while trying his best not to look like he’s watching him. When Laurent’s eyes return to his, he can see that they’re clearer, now, and—although he knows that even to him Laurent is difficult to read on the best of days—Damen can sense shame in those eyes.

Damen doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he should say anything. He’s about to end their staring contest with another platitude when Laurent sighs quietly through his nose and lays his head back onto his pillow, gaze wandering across the room. 

“You okay?” he asks, because he feels like he has to.

“Fine,” Laurent replies, distant, as he turns his body to face away from Damen. “It was just a—strange dream. Sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

“You can tell me about it, if you want,” Damen offers, settling himself back down gingerly.

“Why would I want to do that.” Laurent’s voice is flat and tight. “It was just a dream, Damen, it’s hardly worth talking about.”

“Maybe, but it might make you feel better, to tell someone about it.”

“I feel fine, and I’d feel even better if you would let me sleep,” Laurent’s voice is teetering on the edge of something and Damen decides he doesn’t want to find out what.

“Alright. Goodnight, sweetheart,” he settles on, and pulls the covers over them both.

“Goodnight,” Laurent whispers.

Damen stares at the back of his husband’s head and waits to see his breath even out. It doesn’t, and neither does his.


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a little longer than the others bc i got Caught Up. lmk if it's too much lol.
> 
> slight TW in this chapter for references to the regent's abuse-- it isn't described or even mentioned explicitly at all but it's implied in laurent's nightmare, which is only seen from damen's POV.

The next morning, Damen’s eyes feel bruised and his body is unpleasantly heavy. He must have fallen asleep at some point; he remembers hearing birds chirping outside their window as he drifted, the last image in his head that of his husband’s blond hair splayed on the pillow next to him. He’d lain awake for hours through the night watching the moon’s light trace itself across the wall before slowly disappearing from their room, and in the dark he’d closed his eyes and listened to Laurent’s gentle breathing, a stark contrast from the sob-like stutters Damen had heard earlier. The tension in his shoulders had relaxed imperceptibly since then, but it was a far cry from peace. More than ever, Damen longed for the days in the summer palace, wasting entire days away in bed together: hands in each other’s hair, Laurent stifling giggles into Damen’s collarbone, the smell of flowers drifting through the open window. It was freedom, it was the bliss of both of them learning to be whole and innocent and happy together. It’s the polar opposite of this— this is blizzards and exhaustion and loaded silences and Laurent pretending his hands aren’t shaking just like he would when Damen was nothing more than a target to him: tense and carefully controlled, even in sleep.

Not that he slept. Damen knew better than to trick himself into thinking Laurent had fallen asleep last night; he understood very little more than he understood the pattern Laurent’s breath fell into as he slept, and tonight it hadn’t appeared once.

Damen doesn’t want to get up. The thought of doing work right now, with his thoughts so occupied with Laurent and sleep, makes him sigh. He knows lying in bed won’t make the day stall for them, but oh, how he wants to try.

His eyes sting against the cold, dry air of their room. The sun is red and makes the blankets across his chest glow. Laurent is not beside him, despite Damen’s quiet hope that Laurent had fallen asleep in the darkness before dawn, as he did. The meager hour or so of fitful rest would be better than better than none at all. But there’s no trace of him in the room besides his sleepclothes tossed haphazardly onto his side of the bed; Damen touches the soft fabric, hands clumsy with sleep, and it isn’t warm. The idea that Laurent had waited to listen to Damen’s breaths even with sleep—as intimately familiar with Damen’s breathing as Damen is with his—before sneaking out of bed to do gods-knew-what by himself makes his heart ache. 

He stares at the ceiling and waits. He doesn’t quite know what for.

***

When he opens his eyes again, the sun has moved. He curses quietly; he didn’t mean to fall back asleep, though he can’t deny his relief that the ache behind his eyes has subsided somewhat. He gathers the heavy blankets in his lap as he sits up and startles when Laurent’s inquisitive, red-rimmed blue eyes are the first things he sees.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Laurent says, a wry smile quirking his lips as he lowers his head back to the papers on his desk. “Afternoon, rather.”

Damen groans. “What time is it?”

“Just a little past midday,” Laurent replies, his tone suspiciously light. 

“You should’ve woken me,” Damen says, and Laurent doesn’t react. Damen studies his face, a mask of impassivity as he scans the pages in front of him. The circles under his eyes look just a little darker than normal, but other than that, he looks normal.

The issue with that is that, for all that Laurent is his soulmate and the person he knows best in the world, Damen is still very bad at discerning when Laurent is fine and when he’s pretending to be fine.

He’s always thought Laurent would’ve been an actor, in another life. It’s more than his expressions and his words; he’s learned to control everything about himself, inside and out. Damen knows that, after spending as many years as Laurent did in his uncle’s court, Laurent’s iron will was practically a necessity and an understandably difficult habit to break. Intuitively, he understands Laurent’s strong and immediate reflex to hide weakness. 

But truthfully, Damen was under the admittedly naive hope that Laurent had started to rid himself of this reflex. His thoughts turn once more to the summer palace: the openness of Laurent’s face as he made Damen laugh with stories of the pranks he and Auguste would play on their guard; the spontaneity in the way his body writhed under Damen’s hands; his expression in sleep, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. And Damen knows that isn’t how it can be all the time. They’re kings, and as much as Laurent has begun letting down his walls when they’re alone, his persona around their subjects is just as strong and aloof as he’s always cultivated it to be.

Still. He watches Laurent flip the pages in front of him and all Damen can see is some tension that may not really be there. There’s something off in the shape of his shoulders and the way his fingers tap silently against the paper and the purse of his lips as he reads; he just can’t figure out what.

Damen isn’t cut out for this. He never was good at reading people like Laurent was.

“Are you alright?” is what he settles on. He doesn’t think he’ll get some grand epiphany on Laurent’s thoughts unless he asks.

Laurent seems unsurprised by the question, though he bristles, just barely. He looks back up at Damen with nothing in his expression. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” It’s a challenge Damen doesn’t know whether to accept.

“You didn’t get much sleep last night,” he says carefully. Laurent blinks, as though Damen’s gentle honesty is some kind of anomaly. 

“I slept fine.”

“Laurent, don’t lie to me. You didn’t sleep all night.” Damen knows his words have struck something when Laurent’s eyes shift defiantly back to his paperwork. 

“I’m not content to lie in bed all day while my countrymen remain slaves in my kingdom, I suppose.”

It’s a shadow of Laurent’s usual biting remarks to people who try arguing with him but it annoys Damen nonetheless. Something about the (feigned?) arrogance in Laurent’s voice and the insinuation that Damen is irresponsible, even flippant regarding their kingdom, flips a switch Damen’s already sleep-deprived brain and he chooses not to reply.

He dresses quickly, the room silent save for the scratching of Laurent’s pen against parchment, and leaves the room without a word to go about his day.

***

Laurent doesn’t come to bed that night and Damen doesn’t press him, only sneaks narrow-eyes glances at him where he’s sitting straight at his desk. When Damen wakes the next morning, Laurent is gone, and Damen presses his head to his hands and sighs.

***

He hasn’t seen Laurent all day by the time he returns from dinner that night. The castle is dark although it’s only the early evening; he hates that the sun sets so early in Vere this time of the year. He’s already yawning by the time he gets to their bedroom door; he wants to relax and drink his wine, but part of him is nervous at what awaits him inside. Laurent’s lack of sleep is sure to have made him even more combative than he has been and Damen isn’t looking forward to arguing with him in the quiet, tense, passive-aggressive way Laurent likes to. He takes a deep breath, exhaustion settling in his lungs as he opens the door, battle-ready.

But Laurent doesn’t stir as Damen swings open the heavy door and stops short. Laurent is asleep, one head still loosely gripping his pen and head resting awkwardly on his other arm. His jacket is discarded on the back of his chair, leaving him in a disheveled undershirt and trousers. Damen breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of his husband finally resting, involuntary and uncomfortable as it most likely is. Part of him wants to pick him up and place him in their bed, but the risk of disturbing him doesn’t seem worth it. He settles on draping Laurent’s favorite quilt across his shoulders and tucking it around his arms, and when Laurent doesn’t stir, he sits on their bed, pouring himself some wine as he leans against the pillows.

He watches Laurent carefully as he sips at his goblet, willing him to stay asleep at every twitch and sleepy sigh. He doesn’t know exactly why Laurent’s been refusing sleep: perhaps in an attempt to avoid his nightmares, or maybe to avoid Damen asking him about his nightmares. Part of him is guilty at the thought, but another part is annoyed, maybe hurt, that Laurent would go to such ridiculous lengths simply to avoid opening up to him. 

He looks out the window and sighs. He’s not sure what else he can do. If he keeps pressing, he has a feeling Laurent will push him away even further. But if he leaves Laurent alone, well— then he’s left Laurent alone.

A noise pulls Damen from his thoughts and dread fills his stomach. Laurent’s face is scrunched in that same expression of despair Damen had seen on him nights earlier. He puts the goblet down quickly and stands.

“No, no, no, no—” Laurent is muttering, whimpering, and Damen has never heard him sound so helpless. He strides toward him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Laurent is typically a light sleeper, waking at even the gentlest touches and noises, but Damen’s hand only makes him more frenzied in unconsciousness, mind rebelling against his body that’s so desperate for rest. Damen shakes him firmly.

“Sweetheart? Wake up, Laurent, it’s alright, it’s only a dream.” His voice is a drone in his ears.

“No no no, please, stop,” Laurent cries out and Damen’s heart goes cold.

“Laurent, come on, it’s Damen. You’re safe, sweetheart, open your eyes—”

A strangled cry is wrenched from Laurent’s lips as he wakes. His eyes are wild and bloodshot and Damen moves his hand away, carefully, not wanting to distress Laurent as he came back to himself. The movement made Laurent swing his frantic attention toward Damen. The quilt falls off his shoulders. They make eye contact and Damen simply repeats, “It’s okay,” until Laurent drops his head into his hands and breathes. His shoulders are shaking and Damen can see him strain to make it stop.

“What do you need me to do, sweetheart?” Damen asks quietly after his breathing has slowed, because he knows he isn’t going to get it right on his own.

Laurent doesn’t react for a few seconds. Then he raises his eyes toward Damen and Damen can see fully how the half-moons beneath his eyes have darkened like bruises, how his cheekbones seem sharper than usual and his haphazardly schooled expression betrays his desperation for respite from what haunts him. 

It occurs to him, not for the first time tonight, that Laurent is exhausted, tortured by his own mind, and there isn’t a damn thing Damen can do to fix it.

“I want to help you,” he blurts out, unable to control anything about his tone.

Laurent simply stares at him, opens his mouth as if to say something and then looks back down at his shaking hands. He balls them into fists as he speaks.

“I’m going to go to the library for a little while,” he says, voice neutral and quiet.

Damen wants to beg him to stay, to hold him close and listen to him spill all his fears and secrets and ghosts into the space between their lips. But he can’t. Still, he chooses to take the fact that Laurent has told him where he’s going tonight as an indication that he’s trying, that he hears Damen, so he nods and makes room for Laurent to stand. 

Laurent gets up slowly, carefully, concerningly affected by his stiff muscles and the trembling. His breathing is still quick as he picks up the quilt. He pauses, as if considering whether to take it with him, before he tosses it on the bed and puts his jacket back on without lacing it.  
“I love you,” Damen says as Laurent walks out.

Laurent doesn’t look back at him. “I love you, too.”

Damen’s lungs burn and the door clicks shut.


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep typing "laurent" as "lauren't" and i think that's hilarious for some reason
> 
> more importantly, thank you to everyone who's left a comment! i smile very hard every time i get one and i just love reading them and knowing people are enjoying the fic :) 
> 
> this chapter is a little lighter than the others (only a little, lol) bc they are in Love and i love them
> 
> chapter title: laurent can have a little bit of sleep, as a treat

Laurent is avoiding him. 

It’s hardly surprising and not at all difficult for Damen to figure it out. After Laurent’s nightmare, he spends the night falling in and out of sleep, finding himself continually reaching out for Laurent and finding only cold blankets. He wakes just before dawn with his stomach in knots and decides to start the day earlier than he usually would; there’s no point sleeping in without Laurent there to make teasing remarks about his sleeping habits, to blow on his face to wake him up and greet him with an amused smile.

Damen stares at Laurent’s side of the bed, untouched save for Damen sleepily pawing at the sheets. As he dresses, he notices Laurent’s desk has been rearranged; the papers are askew and the pen he was writing with before he fell asleep there is missing. Their servants would have no reason to go near them; Laurent must have come back in when Damen was asleep to collect his things and continue working in the library. He sighs. He knows Laurent has a tendency to overwork himself, a product of the fierce independence and focus that Damen loves so much in him. But Damen doesn’t think he’s slept through the night even once this week, and although he knows Laurent can go longer without sleep than should be possible and still function (or appear to function) normally, this can’t be good for him. 

He hopes Laurent has fallen asleep in the library, in his little corner. Laurent sometimes tells him stories of how found that alcove in the library when he was still very young and hid there to get away from the crowds and buzz of holiday celebrations. He had panicked his nursemaids (and Auguste) when he’d holed himself up there for nearly the whole day reading in solitude; Laurent told him that one of his favorite memories was Auguste finding him and laughing at the sight of a tiny Laurent surrounded by his books in the dim light of sunset. It had become his safe haven, Damen discerned; he’d spent hours each day there as a child, reading and daydreaming, sometimes with Auguste and sometimes without. Damen wondered if it was still his haven after Auguste died— if he went there to get away from the hatred and grief and revenge and abuse and simply allowed himself to be himself, if only for a few moments. He certainly still goes there now, when the days are too long and responsibilities weigh too heavy. One day, a few weeks ago, he’d fallen asleep in Damen’s arms where they were sat in a patch of sunshine on the floor, doing work together silently, and Damen had thought in that moment that he’s never felt such happiness in his life.

He closes his eyes against the memory and wonders how he can get it to be like that again: where Laurent leans into his touches instead of flinching away from them and falls asleep easily under the heavy warmth of the sun and Damen against him.

He opens his eyes and finishes getting dressed before striding to the kitchens. He waits there as the cooks rush to hand him what he’s asked for—Laurent’s favorite mint tea, fresh fruits, honey, and cream—and laughs as he denies their offer to have a servant carry the platter for him. He doesn’t know what kind of mood Laurent will be in when he finds him and he’d prefer to be alone, hopes to recreate that lazy afternoon that seems now to be so far away.

It takes Damen a moment to navigate the library; admittedly, it isn’t somewhere he frequents, but he recognizes the tree outside the window that points him to where Laurent will hopefully be. He walks quietly, anxious not to wake Laurent should he be asleep. When he turns the corner, Laurent is already looking up at him from his place on the floor, surrounded by cushions and pages. He looks worse for wear, hair mussed and eyes exhausted, but he doesn’t look anxious or disturbed— simply surprised to see Damen.

“Are you okay?” 

Damen is taken aback. Laurent is looking at him like he’s grown another head.

“Yes?” Damen replies slowly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing,” Laurent says easily. There’s a quirk to his lips. “I just assumed there was some sort of national emergency going on outside. It’s rare to find you in a library.” Damen rolls his eyes.

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans, though Laurent’s dumb remark made him smile. “I brought you some breakfast. But if you’d rather go hungry—”

Laurent is smiling now, too, looking up at him with such an expression of love in his eyes that suddenly Damen no longer feels the tired ache in his bones that’s lingered there all week. Damen kneels next to Laurent and places the platter down on the floor between them. 

“Thank you,” Laurent murmurs and picks up his tea delicately, inhaling the steam. His smile grows. “You remembered how I like it.”

“Of course,” Damen says, “I even had them add a little bit of tea to all the cream and honey.”

Laurent swats at his arm with his free hand and takes a sip of tea. Damen studies his face now that they’re close. Laurent has a knack for being beautiful regardless of the circumstances. Damen has seen him sick, tired, injured, angry, serious, and Damen always finds something lovely to behold in his face, his hair, his body. But he’s not blind; Laurent is beautiful but he can still see the rumpled clothes, the greasy mess of his hair as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. He sees the redness of his eyes and the purple beneath them, the heaviness of his eyelids when he blinks, as if they want nothing more than to stay closed but Laurent simply won’t let them. 

Laurent doesn’t miss him looking. Damen curses himself for not being able to school the worry out of his expression as well as Laurent could have, because their eyes meet and what was left of Laurent’s smile disappears and he suddenly looks ten times more tired. He stares into his tea, face hard and shoulders curved forward just slightly. With no words exchanged, the damage is already done.

“You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?” Damen forces the question out, bracing himself for whatever vitriol Laurent is prepared to throw at him in his attempt to save face.

But it doesn’t come. He looks back at Laurent, who is still staring into his tea as if lost in thought, eyes unfocused. “No,” he replies quietly, “but I’m okay, Damen.” He takes a long sip.

Damen doesn’t want to press him when he’s already so fragile but the words come tumbling out anyway. “This isn’t healthy for you, Laurent.”

“Thank you for the diagnosis, doctor.”

“You haven’t come to bed in days.”

Laurent’s eyes flash. “Yes, days. You must be so worked up. Perhaps you should go find one of your slaves who’ll let you fuck them whenever your whims arise.” His voice is deceptively cool.

“Laurent, that’s not what I—” he cuts himself off and huffs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He hates it when Laurent does this. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then,” Laurent says flatly. He’s picking at the berries on the platter, now, looking distinctly uninterested. 

“I just want to help you, Laurent. I don’t understand why you keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Laurent’s eyes flicker up to his and Damen holds his ground, mustering enough concern and compassion into his eyes as he can. Laurent once told him that Damen’s eyes were his weakness and his strength, that they betrayed everything he was feeling but that Laurent couldn’t help but give in to them. ‘A giant animal with the eyes of a small puppy,’ he’d called him.

“I do know that,” Laurent says slowly. “But you can’t. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I’m fine,” Laurent says, his words stilted. “This just— happens sometimes. I have dreams. Sometimes, they’re strange. I get— unsettled, when I first wake up, and then it’s forgotten. It’s nothing. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before and nothing that requires any help.” He pops a slice of orange into his mouth to cut himself off and he looks more uncomfortable than Damen can remember him being, recently. 

“Then promise me you’ll try and sleep tonight,” he says. Laurent closes his eyes and sighs. But he nods.

***

They dine together that night for the first time in days after spending hours together in the library. It’s a cheap facsimile of the day they spent in each other’s company there weeks ago, but it’s something, and Damen is grateful for it. He’s missed Laurent’s smile, his witty quips and gossip, though today it was somewhat quieter than usual. 

When they retire to their bed, Laurent is already half-asleep, full from the meal and the warm bath they’d taken together. Damen had to pull him from the brink of slumber where he’d leaned his head on Damen’s damp shoulder, knowing the water would soon turn cold.

When they reach the bed, Damen climbs under the covers immediately but Laurent seems to hesitate, perching on the edge and letting his hand rest on his pillow Damen can see some kind of internal struggle taking place in him and wishes more than anything that he would voice it aloud for Damen to hear. But he won’t, so Damen turns so he’s facing Laurent’s side and fiddles with the blankets to make it seem like he isn’t watching Laurent.

It takes a few seconds, but Laurent climbs in after him, inching close to Damen in a way that makes his chest feel warm. Damen wraps an arm around his husband, slowly, making time to gauge Laurent’s reaction and stop of he seemed unwilling. But Laurent only nestles closer, laying his palm gently on Damen’s chest, eyes already closed. Damen kisses the top of his head. Gods, he’s missed this.

“Good night,” he whispers, and Laurent hums, already drifting. Damen prays to every deity he can think of that Laurent’s sleep goes undisturbed tonight.

***

Damen’s prayers are answered. When he wakes, it’s almost dawn, and Laurent is still asleep beside him, in the same position he was when he fell asleep as if he hadn’t moved all night. Damen smiles, resisting the urge to kiss his husband and risk waking him. 

He takes the opportunity to watch Laurent sleep. It isn’t something he gets to do often, with Laurent’s tendency to wake earlier than he, and it’s something he’s missed the past few days. Every part of Laurent grows softer with sleep, gentle and peaceful. Damen wonders whether Laurent will wake to catch him staring and make fun of him with a pretty blush on his face, as he did at the summer palace. 

Delicately, he brushes a strand of hair out of Laurent’s face, and he hears him sigh sleepily, a sound that never fails to make him smile. He watches Laurent’s eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, deep in sleep; watches his nose twitch ever so often and his chest move gracefully up and down with his breath. The movement lulls him, too, and he feels himself drifting, eyes closing without him realizing it.

It feels like only a few seconds, but it must’ve been hours before he opens his eyes again, blinking against the full sun shining through his window. He stretches gently and turns carefully to where Laurent lies.

His heart drops as what he sees.

It occurs to him that he’s never seen Laurent cry before now. He’s curled on his side, face buried in his pillow; he’s not making any noises, but Damen can see tears smeared across his face and his golden eyebrows drawn together in distress. His fists are shaking where they’re gripping his pillow and Damen can’t tell whether he’s asleep or not.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, and Laurent’s trembling freezes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and Damen places a hand on his back.

Laurent flinches before quickly relaxing, contorting his muscles into a cheap imitation of calm despite the unwaverable clench in his jaw, and it makes Damen sick as his hand retreats. He tries to imagine Laurent, alone after a nightmare, alone in the world, abandoned or betrayed by his family. 'Strange dreams,' he'd said. 'Nothing he hasn't dealt with before.' The thought makes Damen want to cry.

“Laurent, talk to me,” he says, laying his head back down to be level with Laurent’s.

His husband, however, doesn’t look up from where his face is mostly buried, doesn’t even open his eyes.

“I’m alright,” Laurent says. His voice doesn’t shake but his hands do, and Damen falls silent. He pretends to be asleep and eventually Laurent gets up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry this took so long omg. the valid excuse is that i was getting a degree but the much more prominent invalid excuse is that i just couldn't get satisfied with this chapter-- the more i wrote the more i disliked it, but i finally got it to a post-able state and i hope it isn't as bad as i think it is, lol. 5+1 fics are very hard to write without feeling like i'm just writing the same chapter over and over, sadly, but i'm very excited to start writing the final chapter :) let me know what you think!

“Again.” 

Damen hears Laurent before he sees him. Laurent hadn’t come to dinner, hadn’t been in the library or their room, and nobody Damen asked had seen or heard from him since late morning, when he’d been in a “strange mood,” they’d told him. 

“No offense, Your Majesty, but if getting me in the dirt fourteen times isn’t enough to cure your bad mood, I don’t think number fifteen will do the trick.” The voice is Lazar’s, wispy with labored breathing.

“Again,” Laurent repeats, monotone.

Lazar groans. “You know, Your Majesty, if you have pent up energy, I can think of a few other ways you can--”

“Get up and get out. Jord, you’re up.” They’re in the middle of the north training arena, the same one Damen remembers passing during his attempted escape so long ago, still weighed down by gold cuffs, after Laurent had been drugged. He remembers thinking he’d never see Laurent again. Now, he watches him spin the hilt of his sword idly in his grip, jacket discarded and wearing only a thin white undershirt, pacing the sawdust. Jord gets up heavily from his sprawl against the wall and picks up his sword; he looks wary and tired and, like Lazar, like he’d rather be doing anything else, except he’s not as outspoken about it.

As Laurent and Jord settle into their stances, Lazar approaches him and leans against the doorway next to him.

“Honeymoon’s over, huh,” Lazar says, and Damen can’t help but laugh a little bitterly.

“It’s not like that,” he says, and Lazar glances at him sidelong when he doesn’t elaborate.

Laurent parries a heavy swing by Jord, who looks like he’s simply going through the motions of a spar, his footwork sparse and jilted. 

“How long has he been at it?” Damen asks, seeing how Laurent’s hair has darkened with sweat.

Lazar scoffs. “I think Jord was already considering playing dead by the time I got here. It’s been about two hours. Fourteen times. And you know how he fights. Fourteen long times. I need a raise.”

Damen chuckles. Laurent is circling an exhausted Jord, expressionless. “And how long has Jord been here?”

“Bless his heart,” is all Lazar says. 

In minutes, Jord’s back is in the sawdust. He rests his head and lets out a long breath, grip loose on his sword. Laurent backs away, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet despite his heavy breathing. “Again,” he says, and Damen honestly thinks Jord might pass out if he doesn’t intervene.

“Set him free, I’ll take his place,” Damen announces, picking up Lazar’s sword from where he’d tossed it on the ground. Jord looks up at him like he’s a god and slowly gets to his feet, gives Laurent a stiff bow, and gives Damen a quiet “Thank you, Exalted,” as he passes him on his way out. 

Damen watches Laurent not watch him. He runs a hand through his darkened blond hair, loosens the laces on his shirt a little more, readjusts the grip on his sword. When Damen glances behind him, Jord and Lazar have fled.

“It’s getting late,” Damen says. Laurent gives him a steady look. There’s something off in his blue eyes, still red from lack of sleep despite the rest he’d gotten last night. The shadows that Damen is used to seeing there after his dreams haunt him are very much present. Laurent raises his sword.

“Any particular reason you tried to murder your two best guards tonight?” Damen tries again.

Laurent smiles a little. “They’ve had it easy lately. Come on.”

“You’re exhausted. You know I’m gonna win,” Damen says carefully. Laurent’s expression doesn’t change.

Quickly, Damen charges, and Laurent meets his blow immediately. He loves fighting Laurent, frustrating as it is. He’s familiar enough with Laurent’s style that he can decipher his mood in the way he attacks, the way he defends, the things he says to throw Damen off his game, the dirty last-ditch efforts he undertakes to win when he knows Damen’s strength is too much. He’ll play mind games on his opponent, games Damen isn’t ashamed to say he still sometimes falls for. 

This fight’s over too soon for him to decipher anything, though. 

In minutes, Laurent is on the ground, sawdust sticking to his skin and sword halfway across the floor from a move that Damen doesn’t remember ever disarming him before. Damen hasn’t even broken a sweat. His sword is at Laurent’s throat. Laurent closes his eyes briefly and Damen tosses his sword to the side, leaning down to offer Laurent his hand. He takes it after a moment and Damen heaves him up to his feet, steadying him with his other hand on his waist. Laurent turns his head to the sword that had been knocked out of his hand.

“We’re not going again,” Damen says before Laurent can speak, “and you’ve scared off Lazar and Jord. Come on, I think you’re done for the day.”

Laurent glares back at him, but his heavy-lidded gaze tells Damen he’s won this one. “Fine,” he says. He picks up his sword and discarded jacket, but doesn’t put it back on.

“Should I be worried?” Damen asks, and Laurent bristles. “You look like you’re preparing for another war. I was kind of hoping we were done with those for a little while.”

“Not with that attitude,” Laurent replies, but they’re both smiling. Laurent’s hair is messy and dark with sweat as they walk down the hallway, Laurent’s gait just a little wobbly from however many hours of sparring he’d managed to cajole his guards into. “How was your day?” Laurent asks, though his voice sounds further away than usual.

“Better now,” Damen says easily, and he senses rather than sees Laurent’s eyes roll.

“Resorting to flattery to prevent an invasion, I see. What a diplomat,” Laurent drawls, looking straight ahead with a half-smile. 

When they reach their room, Laurent makes a beeline for the baths while Damen stretches out on the bed and wonders whether Laurent will actually join him there tonight. Laurent had been smiling. But, as Damen knew, that could mean very little.

When Laurent emerges, he’s sleepy warm and looks ready to collapse, and Damen has to consciously stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief when Laurent blows out the candles on his desk and climbs into bed next to him. He'd garnered the suspicion that Laurent had been deliberately exhausting himself, probably in the hopes that it would make him sleep so deeply the nightmares couldn't reach him, and it looks like it's working. For the first time in weeks, Laurent willingly, consciously wraps his arm across Damen’s chest and lays his head on his shoulder and Damen feels his heartbeat pick up. He doesn’t think it’ll ever stop doing that no matter how many times Laurent does it.

Laurent, whose head is close to Damen’s heart, smiles, and this time Damen thinks it does mean something.

Unlike previous nights, Laurent doesn’t seem to dread the idea of falling asleep. There’s nothing in the languid shape of his limbs entangled with Damen’s or the involuntary fluttering of his eyelids to suggest any of the anxiety that’s plagues him recently, and Damen chooses not to even question it; he only shifts closer to Laurent, tangles their legs further and blows a strand of still-damp hair out of his mouth. It’s going to be a mess tomorrow and Damen cannot wait to see it. Laurent breathes against him and he breathes back, and they talk like this, back and forth, as they drift.

\--

“Auguste--”

It’s that name that wakes Damen sharply and forced open his eyes to blackness. For a moment he dreads lighting a candle and looking over across the bed to find Laurent, once again in the throes of a nightmare, but he knows he won’t be able to just lay there and listen. 

Damen doesn’t usually know what Laurent dreams about, although he typically has an idea depending on how Laurent acts when he wakes or his mumblings when he’s trapped in a dream. It’s usually the same-- whimpers of “no” or “please” in a voice Damen sometimes can’t believe belongs to Laurent, followed by wakefulness, shock, blue eyes not all there before they shutter and Laurent disengages, walls up. 

He’s never heard Laurent say Auguste’s name aloud like this. In the few times Laurent tells him stories about his older brother, his voice is calm: sad but fond, and there’s always the slightest smile on his lips as he speaks. Laurent tells him they would’ve been best friends and Damen believes him, though he never knows how to respond, knowing what they both know. The way Laurent speaks his brother’s name tonight is as if he’s died all over again; maybe, to Laurent, he has. Damen lights a candle so quickly he almost burns himself in the process. Its light illuminates Laurent’s hair, as messy as Damen thought it would be, and his face, which Damen can hardly bring himself to look at.

He kneels back onto the bed, the movement jostling Laurent, who grips the sheets beneath him tighter. Damen winces, almost afraid to wake Laurent: afraid of what will happen when he opens his eyes to find his brother’s killer in his bed.

He hates this.

Just like every other time, Damen lays his hand on Laurent’s shoulder and shakes him gently, murmuring “Laurent, wake up,” in a mantra. Suddenly, Laurent goes still and quiet, though his eyes open in a flash, unfocused, all blue surrounded by purples and reds. He was crying.

“Auguste,” Laurent’s voice trembles as he stares through Damen. Damen’s hand still rests on his shoulder, scared to move, to make himself known. He breathes carefully, watching.

Laurent blinks; as he does, more tears escape his eyes and his gaze focuses on Damen’s shoulder. Damen looks down at the faded scar he knows is there. He thinks of all the things Auguste had given Laurent during his short life: horses, lessons, sweets, and probably many, many books. Yet this scar was the last thing he’d ever given anyone and Damen shudders.

Laurent stares at it for a long time with an unreadable expression on his face: lips slightly parted, jaw tight. He sits up and Damen’s hand falls from his shoulder; Laurent flinches as it does, as if he hadn’t felt it there. He wraps his arms tight around himself, hands clutching at his loose sleepshirt until it’s taut against his back. 

Before Damen can say anything, Laurent lets out a deep, shuddering breath and collapses on on himself, gathering more fabric in his shaking fists as he does. When his breathing becomes shallow and quick, Damen comes back to himself. His husband is trembling all over, head tucked into his chest like he’s hiding, and Damen doesn’t know what to do.

“Laurent,” he murmurs, making his voice as gentle as possible, but Laurent doesn’t seem to react. Damen steels himself and reaches his hand out, again, to touch Laurent’s shoulder.

His fingers have barely brushed the thin fabric of Laurent’s shirt when Laurent snaps his head up towards Damen, eyes wide and wild. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses through gritted teeth and stuttering breath, and Damen can see how the shaking in his shoulders gets more violent, can see the fear underneath the threat in his blue eyes, and he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say, but Laurent is already getting up, legs unsteady and breathing erratic, probably trying to think through the panic to assess whether it’d be more amenable to go outside and let his guards see him in this state or to stay in this room with the man he loves, his brother’s killer. Damen looks up at the ceiling to steel himself, pushing down the tears tightening his throat. 

“Wait,” Damen says, voice thick, though he knows Laurent won’t listen. “I’ll go, I’ll-- I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to. But Damen still pulls on the closest chiton he can find, wrinkled from where he’d tossed it on the floor to Laurent’s wry amusement, the night before. The scolding smile on his face is incomparable to the expression of panic and anger he’d seen tonight.

Laurent is still pulling on his jacket, but his fingers are shaking too badly to do up the laces and Damen is quicker. He reaches the door and when he looks back, Laurent is staring at him again, expression somehow totally raw and completely shuttered. His hair is a mess.

“I’ll go,” he repeats, trying to think of where he can go. The library feels too much like Laurent’s space that it feels like an invasion if he stays there, but he can’t go outside, not in this cold. It’s still dark out, he notes. “I’ll be in the training room if you need me,” he finishes, and the look on Laurent’s face seems to indicate that he won’t need him, despite the fact that he’s trembling where he stands, jacket unlaced and draping limp over his shoulders. Damen wants to say ‘I love you,’ but he doesn’t; just closes the door behind him and tries to school his expression into something that doesn’t look like heartbreak as he passes by guards in the halls, knowing he looks like a wreck anyway.

There’s no one in the training arena, thankfully, and when he closes the doors behind him, he collapses against the wall and presses his hands to his face.


	6. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are!! this was the first multi-chapter fic i've ever written and my short-ass attention span made it difficult but i hope everyone enjoyed the ride :') 
> 
> this chapter will hopefully ease some of the soul-crushing angst i've been putting y'all through for five chapters. closer to the end, there is some discussion of the grooming/abuse laurent went through (and subsequent trauma), but it's mostly implied and absolutely nothing graphic is described
> 
> thanks to everyone who's read/kudos'ed/commented over the past few weeks! hope you enjoy <3

Damen doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes, he’s on the floor of the training room, slumped against the wall, eyes swollen and dry. He rubs at them lazily, trying to quell the headache behind them, when he hears a voice speaking Veretian from in front of him. He looks up, vision blurry, wondering if Laurent has come to find him after all. When his vision clears he makes out Jord’s nervous face looking down at him.

“Exalted?”

Damen gets up slowly on stiff legs, fruitlessly trying to smooth out his wrinkled clothes. “Jord,” he greets, stretching as he yawns. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Jord says. “Sorry to wake you. I stopped by on my rounds this morning and thought you might want to be left undisturbed, but I think the men are starting to get suspicious,” he explains warily.

Damen huffs a laugh and rubs at his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry for the trouble. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Not at all, Exalted,” Jord replies, though he’s looking at Damen strangely. Damen supposes he can’t blame him. 

“I’m surprised you’re up so early, after last night,” Damen says, and the way Jord tries to hide the exasperated look on his face amuses him. Jord opens the door for him and they start walking out of the room together, ignoring the group of soldiers idling outside. 

“I wasn’t supposed to be, but His Majesty called on me late last night to guard hi— your rooms.” Damen blinks. As captain, Jord was almost never responsible for personally guarding their rooms, and especially not in the middle of the night,

“What happened to the regular guards?”

Jord shrugs, but Damen continues glancing at him as they walk. 

“Did he say anything to you?”

“His Majesty? He only ordered me to stand guard until dawn and to allow no disturbances. After I took my post he went back inside and I didn’t hear from him again. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Exalted, but he was acting— strange.”

Damen, who can sense the unspoken question between them, only nods. His heart sinks. His mind conjures up the image of Laurent, shaken and alone after Damen had left, clutching at his shirt with both hands white-knuckled. He could see him trying to get his breathing under control, channeling the ice back into his eyes before demanding his guards fetch Jord, his most trusted soldier.

“Do you know if he’s awake yet?” Damen asks. He slows his pace as they approach his chambers. He suspects that once again sleep had not welcomed Laurent last night—or perhaps the other way around.

Jord gives him another strange look, but all he says is, “I don’t know, Exalted. I left my post when the guards replaced me at dawn.” They’ve stopped in front of his chambers.

“Thank you, Jord,” is all Damen can think to say in response, steeling himself for what might await him inside.

Though it’s a clear dismissal, Jord lingers. “Exalted, I— if you or the King have any need of me—” he pauses. Damen can see the furrow in his brow, like he’s not sure what to say, but Damen understands and smiles.

“Get some rest, Jord,” he replies, and Jord bows dutifully before turning in the direction they came from.

Damen takes a breath and walks past the guards and into their chambers, hand hesitating on the wood before pushing it open, slowly. Irrationally, subconsciously, part of him expects their room to be torn apart, as if a storm had come in and thrown everything into disarray. But the room looks the same as it did last night when they’d fallen asleep; the bed is made and Damen’s desk is no messier than it always is. 

Even Laurent, leaning carefully on the edge of his desk with a bundle of papers in his hand, looks incongruously well put-together, at first glance.

For a moment, they only look at each other, Laurent’s expression as guarded as Damen imagines his own to be. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly, and Laurent blinks at him.

“Hello,” he replies, voice as cool and calm as ever. “You have sawdust in your hair.”

Damen reaches up. He does. “I needed a bath anyway.” Laurent doesn’t reply, only looks back down at the papers in his hand. Damen closes his eyes, squeezing them shut hard, before he takes the dive. He makes his voice sound as casual as possible, but this only makes him sound more uncomfortable when he asks, “You okay?”

Laurent takes a similar approach, evidently, closing his eyes as he responds. “Fine.”

Irrationally, Damen feels his temper flare. “Jord told me you called on him to guard you last night.”

Laurent’s jaw twinges in annoyance. “And?”

“Why?”

“Is having a member of the King’s Guard guard me puzzling to you somehow?” Laurent’s voice is sharp, but the words don’t land like they usually do, and they both know it. “The regular guards were being loud. I couldn’t sleep.” They both know, also, that Damen doesn’t believe him.

“And did you? Sleep?” The words flow out unbidden.

Laurent blinks. “No,” he says carefully, still staring at the papers.

Damen sighs, the bit of honesty disarming. Laurent’s face is drawn, every shadow exaggerated. His eyes are dark. He’s holding the papers with both hands, now, as if it will stop Damen from noticing how he’s shaking. 

“I’m sorry. About last night.”

Damen hesitates. “I— you? About what?”

Laurent huffs in frustration, putting the papers down as he pushes off the desk. He crosses his arms in front of his ribcage, trying to mitigate the tension in his shoulders. “You spent the night in the training room.” It isn’t quite an explanation.

“I didn’t want to— make you uncomfortable,” he says carefully, keeping his gaze off Laurent and towards the floor. “I didn’t mind, I just. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

He looks up in surprise at the sound of Laurent’s laugh. It’s bitter and biting but it still makes Damen’s heart race a little. “Me neither,” he murmurs. He looks lost.

Again, the honesty spurs him on. “I wanted to give you space. But, Laurent.” He tries to lock their eyes but Laurent is looking at the floor. “Laurent, I hated leaving you alone like that.”

Slowly, Laurent’s gaze meets his, and it’s enough, even though Damen can still make nothing out from his expression. Laurent’s eyes are searching, and Damen feels like fire is running through his veins as he makes himself honest, vulnerable, giving everything away. Laurent always said it was stupid, that he could do it so easily, but he’d always said it with a smile. He isn’t smiling now.

Damen doesn’t say anything, though he wants to. After a long moment, Laurent starts speaking, slowly, choosing his words very carefully.

“I hated you leaving, too,” he admits, and Damen sees his hands clutch at his arms a little more tightly, an echo of last night. Damen takes a step closer, gauging Laurent’s reaction as he does. He only blinks, and Damen closes the gap between them, reaching for one of Laurent’s hand slowly, brushing the back of his fingers against Laurents’ and waiting for a flinch or a wince. But Laurent only blinks again and Damen takes Laurent’s hand in his, encompassing the tremors and quelling them. 

“Then, if this happens again,” Damen starts, and he brings Laurent’s hand to his lips when Laurent squeezes his eyes shut. “Is it okay if I stay with you?”

Laurent opens his eyes again, exhausted. Damen clutches his hand a little tighter and Laurent nods.

**

Laurent has been quiet all day, absorbed in work or pretending to be. Damen has been quiet, too, if only to avoid disturbing the facsimile of peace they’d somehow created. They sit at their desks, each facing opposite walls; as the sun migrates across the walls, Damen wonders if Laurent has noticed the rustling of his clothing as he cranes his head back to look at him, each time hoping to find Laurent looking back. He never is, but at one point he’d managed a huff of laughter out of Laurent when he’d accidentally dropped his pen, and the sound made Damen smile.

By dinnertime, Damen has gotten up to stretch and give his hand a break from writing. He takes a look at Laurent’s face as he paces; Laurent has practically been operating in a trance, a haze behind his tired eyes and a mechanical detachment to his movements, despite the easy arrangement of his limbs. It’s a practiced ease, he knows.

Damen calls for their meal to be served to them in their room tonight, and Laurent doesn’t object, although he doesn’t eat much. Damen steals glances and it’s obvious a week without sleep has taken its toll. He almost seems like he’s falling asleep sitting up, though the sun has hardly set; his eyes are fluttering and he jolts whenever Damen speaks, as if he’s jerking himself awake. 

When Damen is done, Laurent has eaten half his plate and doesn’t seem prepared to eat more. He pushes it away and sits back in his chair, regarding Damen calculatingly. Damen lets him, for a few moments, before speaking.

“You look tired.” Laurent’s eyes don’t even flash in response like they normally would; Damen doesn’t know if it’s because of their talk before or because he’s too tired to garner opposition. 

“I’m not going to sleep. It’s early, yet,” Laurent replies, and leans his wrist on the arm of his chair carefully.

“Laurent, please—” Damen swallows and tries to find the words. “You can’t just avoid sleep forever.”

“Yes, Damianos, I’m not an idiot. Or a child,” he bites back, though it’s muted and his eyes are closed. “I can take care of myself. This— has happened before and I’m sure it will happen again.”

“The nightmares, you mean?” Damen is almost hesitant to call them that, though it’s obvious that’s what they are. What had Laurent called them? ‘Strange dreams’? 

Laurent only shrugs in response and Damen has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Laurent wanted help; he was fairly confident that’s what he’d meant to say when he asked Damen to stay tonight. But admitting it and allowing it were two separate monsters.

“Laurent, I can’t help you unless I know what you need from me. I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing like last night—”

“Dammit, Damen, I don’t _know_ ,” Laurent says, voice ragged. “I’ve never— I don’t know. I don’t know how—” he cuts himself of with a huff and stares at the ceiling before leveling his gaze to Damen's.

Of course, he doesn’t know. He’s never had someone there with him before, probably had never even told anyone about his trauma, let alone his nightmares. They were both out of their depths. There was a part of Damen, deep down, that knew that if they hadn't shared a bed, Damen would likely never have even known about the dreams in the first place. The only reason Laurent is allowing himself to discuss it is because he has no choice. 

But the way Laurent had spoken, earlier— _“I hated you leaving, too”_ —Damen steels himself.

“Okay,” he says as he stands and stretches. He starts undressing as blue eyes follow his movements wearily. “It's okay. We’ll figure it out.” 

Laurent says nothing, only closes his eyes again.

**

Damen finally manages Laurent into bed after the third time he’s dozed off while reading at his desk. Laurent hesitates before blowing out the candle, hesitates before getting under the covers. Damen rolls over to face him and opens his arm in invitation, and Laurent hesitates here, too, before settling his head on Damen’s shoulder, relaxing infinitessimally into his arms.

A few minutes pass, and Damen can feel Laurent futilely fighting sleep. “I’m here,” he whispers so quietly he isn’t sure Laurent even heard him. 

He feels Laurent’s sigh against his collarbone; Laurent turns his head to press a kiss to his skin, and Damen smiles. 

“Just—” Laurent’s voice is a quiet surprise, breathy and uncertain. “If it happens, and I’m not— Just— Don’t touch me. If you try to wake me,” he says. “Sometimes, I— If I dream about—” Laurent cuts himself off. “Just don’t touch me,” he finishes, and buries his face further in Damen’s shoulder.

Damen understands, and in turn, he shifts to press a kiss to the crown of Laurent’s head. “I won’t. Thank you.”

Their breaths even out at the same time. He dreads what will happen after Laurent finally falls asleep; his blood feels electric with rage and nerves as he runs through scenarios of what might happen, soon, and why it’s happening in the first place. He knows it’ll be hard not to touch him, to offer comfort in the way he does best. He almost doesn’t want to fall asleep; he wants to stay up, to watch Laurent for any signs of distress and wake him up, immediately. But Laurent’s hair is soft where it tickles his neck and his breath is soft and warm, and Damen follows him regardless.

**

Damen isn’t sure what exactly wakes him, but he’s alert in seconds.

For a moment, he thinks it was nothing. It’s just dawn and he can faintly see Laurent’s form, curled up away from him near the edge of the bed. Damen almost lays back down, almost flings an arm over Laurent and goes back to sleep, when he hears it.

“Uncle—” His voice is a mumble, broken and quiet in the silence surrounding them.

“Laurent!” he calls, loudly, resisting the urge to shake him awake as he’d done before.

“No, please, you promised—”

Damen bites his lip, hands shaking where he’s gripping the sheets he’s thrown off himself. He feels hollow and helpless. He slides out of the bed carefully, as not to startle Laurent, before rushing to the opposite side and kneeling in front of Laurent. He can see his face now, expression broken and devastated even in sleep.

“Laurent, it’s me, it’s Damen, I’m here. Wake up, please,” he says, shifting closer to Laurent as he does. Laurent is squirming and Damen wants to hold his hands; he clings to the edge of the mattress instead.

“It’s a dream, come on, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s not real.” He’s not even sure what he’s saying, but he talks and talks, trying to drown out the sounds of Laurent’s whimpers, his quiet pleas.

“Laurent, love—”

Laurent breath hitches and gasps as he comes awake, eyes finding Damen’s inches from his face immediately. Laurent scrambles backwards, not taking his eyes off Damen as he does.

“It’s me, Laurent, he can’t hurt you. It’s alright.”

Laurent only stares at him a few beats more before crumpling in on himself with a shuddering sigh. He takes a few breaths; Damen can hear them stutter in his chest, speeding up as Laurent fights to control them, and he wishes he could do anything. He can’t touch, is too afraid to speak—

“Why are you on the floor?” Laurent’s voice calls him out of his mind, though it’s shaky and muffled where it’s buried in his arms. 

“I didn’t want to— I was trying to—” Damen stutters. He hadn’t exactly been thinking when he did it. “I don’t know,” he admits.

He thinks he hears something like a laugh out of Laurent, though he supposes it could just as well be a sob, so he stays quiet, still sitting on the cold floor.

Eventually, Laurent looks back up at him, breathing still ragged but expression calm. They stare at each other and Laurent is as unreadable as always.

Slowly, Laurent says, “Get off the floor, Damen.” He blinks before perching himself on the edge of the bed; Laurent puts his head back in his hands and Damen hears him exhale, shakily. He feels like a voyeur; it’s strange, being allowed to watch Laurent pull himself back together, to watch his shoulders shaking and hear his breathing rebel against him.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. He hears Laurent’s breath hitch before he answers.

“Yes. Just—” For a moment, he’s terrified that Laurent is going to ask him to leave again. “What did I say?”

Damen is taken aback. “I— when?”

“When I was— sleeping. You said that _he_ couldn’t—” Laurent’s breathing picks up a little and Damen doesn’t want to answer him.

“Nothing specific, only his name, and… And you said, ‘you promised.’”

Laurent shakes his head, as though berating himself, and buries a hand in his hair. Damen wants to press but knows this is as much of Laurent as he’s ever been allowed to see, and he doesn’t want to push him. 

“Damen?” He still isn’t looking up from where he’s curled in the middle of the bed.

“Yes?”

“Can you come here, please?” His voice is still fragile, teetering on the edge of something and Damen hesitates as he shifts closer, still careful not to touch him. Laurent must feel him move through the bed, but he doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t say a thing. Damen simply waits, cross-legged next to him, waiting for him to move.

A moment later, he does. He sees Laurent’s body shake almost violently before he looks at Damen, brow furrowed, kneels up, and throws his arms around Damen’s neck, tucking his head below his chin. Damen’s arms come up instinctively to envelop him, and if watching him tremble from afar was bad then this is worse, feeling his muscles twitch against his hands and his urgent breath against his collarbone. It’s worse and Laurent’s fingernails are digging into his skin and Damen has never been so relieved. 

“After Auguste died—” Laurent cuts himself off and Damen feels them both tense. Laurent is silent for a moment. “After Auguste died, I never thought I could feel like this again. My uncle—” His nails press further into Damen’s skin. “He was all I had left and I fooled myself into thinking he— And sometimes, I manage to convince myself that you’re—”

He feels Laurent’s hands ball into fists. He wants to hold him tighter, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, and that he’s safe, and that he’s sorry, but he forces the words down his throat. 

Laurent sighs and collapses into him a little more. “He used to do all the same things Auguste did for me, at first. The same things you do. He’d find me hiding in the library and sit with me. He’d comfort me when I had bad dreams. But then he—” Damen feels the words in his throat choking him. 

“Laurent, I’m not— You have to know. Laurent.” His voice is desperate.

“I know,” he says quietly, and he pulls away to look at Damen with red-rimmed eyes. “I know because you— I told you not to touch me and you didn’t.” 

Damen swallows.

“But sometimes, I— forget. Auguste died, and I forgot what this was like.” He tightens his hold. “And just when I think I’ve remembered, Uncle comes back, and he’s everywhere, and—” his face crumples and Damen feels his own eyes burning. “And he’s never going away.”

He feels Laurent sob into the crook of his shoulder and neck. His hands shake where they’re trying not to dig into Laurent’s back; he presses frantic kisses to Laurent’s hair as he trembles. 

“He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

“Damen, I’m so tired.” It’s little more than a whimper, and Damen holds Laurent more securely, hands spanning his back and supporting him as he sags further into Damen’s chest.

“Sleep, Laurent, I’ll be right here, I promise. I won’t leave you alone.”

Laurent sighs. “I don’t think I can fall asleep.” But his speech is slurred and his voice is small. The sun is up. 

“It’s okay. Just rest.”

Laurent’s lashes flutter against his shoulder. He pulls one of his hands up to cradle the back of Laurent’s head as he leans back against the headboard; the other grabs the corner of a discarded blanket and maneuvers it around Laurent’s shoulders. Laurent shifts, still clinging to Damen.

“I love you,” Laurent whispers, a secret into the dip of his collarbone.

“I love you.” There’s more that needs to be said, eventually, but Laurent is already asleep and Damen can do nothing but close his eyes against the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/feedback welcome :)


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